The Treachery of Saruman
by SkyFire2
Summary: Rivendell is attacked not long after the Fellowship leaves. Why and what happens? I don't really know how to summarize this. Read it anyway! *g* Main characters are Elrond and Glorfindel. FINISHED! Please R/R.
1. The Attack...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were. 'Course, *they* seem happy with the current arrangement...   
I wonder why? *g* I mean really, just because I make them do strange things sometimes, it's no   
reason for them to run away screaming like they do, is it? *g*  
  
A/N: Okay, right. Timeline. This takes place sometime between when the Fellowship leaves Rivendell   
and when they catch up with Saruman at Orthanc. That enough time to choose from? *g*  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Pain.  
  
It coursed through him from the various minor cuts and bruises the foul raiders had dealt him.   
He could feel the wounds burning strangely as well, slowly leeching away his strength, and   
guessed that their nasty-looking blades were covered with some sort of potion to make it so.  
  
Piercingly deep blue eyes stung and teared as a breath of wind blew harsh grey smoke into them.   
Blinking rapidly to clear his blurred vision, it was all he could do to keep his attention   
focused on his opponents and not on the destruction of the place he'd called home for so long.  
  
The thick smoke tickled his throat, adding yet another distraction at a time when he needed none-   
the desperate *need* to cough. He managed to beat back the feeling of 'cough madly or choke'   
with a bit of the same stubbornness that had served him so well in other battles.  
  
Not soon enough.  
  
A crude blade sliced into the forearm of his sword-arm. Even as he unconsciously cried out in   
pain, his hand opened and his fine, Elven-crafted sword fell to the dirt.  
  
He looked quickly to his opponents, saw the leering grins they wore as they closed in on him. He   
didn't know *what* they were. None of the Elves did. None of them had ever seen anything like   
the unusually large, strong orc-kin that now attacked them.  
  
With his left hand, he drew his long knife and slashed viciously across the face of the Uruk-hai   
he saw as the weakest link in the circle around him. The orc-kin in question reeled back with a   
pained growl, leaving a gap in the line.  
  
Quick as thought, the Elf darted through the gap and ran for one of the bridges into Rivendell.   
He could see fighting on the other side as well, and much burning. He hoped to reach one of the   
Elven groups there, where he hoped to at least wrap his forearm, slowing the bleeding and making   
it at least partially usable.  
  
He was perhaps a quarter of the way across the bridge when a group of perhaps a dozen Uruk-hai   
reached it from the far side and started across, coming towards him.  
  
He turned to go back, but the way was now blocked by the Uruk-hai that had pursued him before.  
  
He was trapped.  
  
He looked again to the further group, saw them getting quickly nearer. And... what was that? He   
stared, saw it again, recognized it. Finely crafted Elven battle-armor.  
  
Then he was spun nearly halfway around as something hit his shoulder hard from behind. His long   
knife went flying. For a second there was only the shock of impact, but then came the pain.   
Gasping with it, he looked over to see a thick, ugly black arrow sticking out of his left   
shoulder, rendering his knife-hand as useless as his right.  
  
He looked to the Uruk-hai, saw them nearly upon him, saw that the armor-wearing Elf was slung   
over one broad orc-kin shoulder, feet bound tightly. Then they were upon him. He expected   
nothing but a cruel death, but most passed him by with only hateful glares. As the Elf-carrying   
orc-kin passed him by, he was able to focus pain-blurred vision enough to recognize the fall of   
dark, silky hair, the gleam of the intricate silver circlet.  
  
"Elrond," he moaned in despair. The Uruk-hai had taken the Lord of Imladris. "No...."  
  
As if roused by the other Elf's words, Elrond groggily raised his head. His dark eyes were dazed,   
his strong face cut and battered. His gaze focused on his closest friend just in time to see one   
of his captors pull the black arrow ungently from the other's shoulder, hand it to an orc-kin   
archer, then lift the golden-haired Elf-lord as if he weighed nothing and toss him over the side   
of the bridge to plummet toward the river Bruinen that ran far below.  
  
Concentrating fiercely, muttering the words under his breath, Elrond managed to command the river   
to rise enough to keep Glorfindel from death from the fall.  
  
He heard the Bruinen surge below, heard the barely-audible-above-the-roaring splash as Glorfindel   
fell in. He heard the orc-kin curse loudly at the river. He continued muttering, asking the   
River to carry his friend to safety. Distantly, he heard his captors yelling, but his conscious   
mind was focused on the Bruinen.  
  
Which was why it took him completely by surprise when he was hit hard upside the head with enough   
force to knock him unconscious.  
  
  
  
Within the hour, all the Uruk-hai forces had withdrawn from Rivendell.  
  
They had what they'd been sent for.  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Oooooooh! *g* So, what do you think? *g* Leave a review and let me know! *g* 


	2. Glorfindel's Journey...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 2  
  
Wind whistled past him as he fell helplessly through the air, the wind whipping his golden hair   
into his face with stinging force.  
  
He managed to look down as he fell, the speed of the fall enough to make his eyes tear and his   
vision blur. He saw far below, though nearing quickly, the river Bruinen, saw that at that   
section of the mighty river it was only a half-dozen feet deep.  
  
Not deep enough for any possibility of him surviving the fall from the bridge. If only he had   
the same power over the River as Elrond....  
  
Elrond, who had, against all reason, apparently been kidnapped by the orc-kin. Orcs and all evil   
creatures usually simply killed Elves outright, or, if they *did* take prisoners, it was a random   
thing. And there had been nothing random in Elrond's kidnapping.The orc-kin had specifically   
sought him out, and begun their retreat once they had him. The fires had been distractions, no   
more.  
  
None of which was doing *him* a bit of good right now.  
  
Then, with a loud roar, the Bruinen surged mightily below him, the level of the River rising   
higher than he'd ever seen it before, even during the spring floods.  
  
It was the work of Elrond, Glorfindel knew with certainty. He hoped his friend wouldn't be   
punished for it.  
  
Then he had no more time for thoughts other than those for his own survival.  
  
He hit the water with a powerful slap, went underwater, resurfaced, choking and gasping. The   
current pulled him along downriver at an amazing pace, his already-injured body getting bruised   
and battered against the rocks and debris that shared the river with him. He choked and coughed   
as water filled his mouth and nose.  
  
His injured arms weren't quite strong enough to keep him afloat against the pull of the river.  
  
The current pulled him under. He barely had time enough to hold onto a breath before he was   
sucked down and pulled downriver even faster.  
  
His lungs started to ache and burn for lack of air. He couldn't hold his breath for much longer.   
His mouth opened and involuntarily he breathed in, unable to fight the *need*.  
  
Then he resurfaced. He came up gasping for air, coughing harshly, feeling the small amount he'd   
breathed in slosh around in his lungs, cutting his breath short. He flailed his arms wildly   
about, ignoring the pain from his injuries, desperate to both stay above water and somehow reach   
the shore.  
  
The roaring of the River was all around him, deafening him. Then, abruptly, the river's fury   
abated and the water level began to decrease.  
  
Still, weakened as he was from both the battle-injuries and the pounding from the river,   
Glorfindel could do nothing but let it carry him onward and hope that it would eventually deposit   
him on land somewhere.  
  
Body numbed by the cold water, he was unaware of exactly how much time had passed before he first   
began to feel the passing of the riverbed under his benumbed feet. Teeth chattering, shivering   
uncontrollably in the water as it continued to pull him, he cast a glance up at the sky and a   
sort of dazed shock ran through him.  
  
It had been midafternoon when the orc-kin had thrown him off the bridge. And now the night sky   
was lightening in the East with the first hints of false-dawn.  
  
At last, the river, now called Greyflood, receded back down to its proper level, leaving   
Glorfindel kneeling in two feet of water.  
  
He managed to get to his feet and stagger on downriver, falling often. Chilled to the bone,   
he was too cold even to shiver anymore as his hair and clothes iced over in the cold January   
morning air.  
  
With his failing senses, he remembered passing by what seemed to be swampland in winter. Judging   
by the placement of the mountains, he could see that he had been carried very far south of   
Rivendell by the River, enough that perhaps it would be possible for him to reach the place where   
the Road forded the River near the ruined town of Tharbad. He could only hope that a traveler   
would be passing by and find him before he froze to death. He knew that unless someone found and   
tended to him, he would die.   
  
His hands were frozen stiff; he couldn't uncurl his fingers. Even if he could, he had no means   
to either cut firewood or to start a fire; he had lost his weapons before he was thrown off the   
bridge, and the River had stolen the contents of his belt-pouch, where his flints had been.  
  
He staggered on downriver, slipping on ice and snow, tripping over any obstacle that lay in his   
path, falling now on hard, frozen ground, now on icy snow, now into icy-cold river water, dousing   
himself anew.  
  
After perhaps an hour of stumbling on, he lifted his head and looked around with eyes whose   
lashes were spikes of ice. There, perhaps thirty feet ahead of him on either side of the river   
were breaks in the treeline.  
  
The Road.  
  
He took another staggering step towards it, slipped. He fell hard to the frozen ground. He   
tried to push himself up. He couldn't even move his arms. He was so *cold*. His breath didn't   
even fog in the cold air. He stared fixedly at the Road, tried again to lift himself. Again, he   
failed.  
  
Cold ruled him. He was made of ice and chill and pain and nothing more.  
  
/So cold,/ he thought numbly. /So cold. Have to reach the Road./ Another attempt at getting up   
was followed by another failure. /Can't get up. So cold. Can't give up. Can't. Too close. I'm   
so cold./ A thick, comforting drowsiness settled in on him. /Sleepy. Have to sleep. No!   
Can't give up! But I'm so cold and so sleepy. Must rest, just for a while.... No! Can't go to   
sleep.... Why? So.... So sleepy..../  
  
Deep blue eyes fluttered shut, opened, closed again, stayed shut. Glorfindel sank into helpless   
unconsciousness barely thirty feet from the Road.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So, what did you think? Let my plotbunnies know! *g* Click the button and leave some plotbunny   
food! *g* They'd like at least 10 feedings before I post the next chapter.... 


	3. Long Marches...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 3  
  
Elrond came awake to find himself still slung over an orc-kin's broad shoulder. He could see the   
ground passing swiftly beneath its iron-shod feet as it carried him away from the valley-sanctuary   
he'd ruled over for these many years. It was full night.  
  
He didn't squirm, didn't move, gave no indication to his captors that he was no longer   
unconscious. Instead, he kept his body limp even as he carefully extended his senses out into   
the night, trying to find out exactly what his situation was.  
  
His hands and feet were tightly bound. He still wore his battle-armor, but he remembered how he   
had lost his weapons during the fight. Even unweaponed, though, he had continued to fight the   
Uruk-hai, striking out with kicks and punches until at last he was pulled down and tied.  
  
Listening carefully, he could hear perhaps two and a half dozen orc-kin all around him, iron-shod   
feet landing heavily on the ground as they ran. And they were fast afoot, faster than any   
two-legged being had any right to be.  
  
Then he remembered Glorfindel.  
  
Glorfindel, whom the orc-kin had tossed over the bridge and down into the Bruinen.  
  
Elrond knew, from his somewhat hazy memory of the event, that he *had* managed to flood the river   
enough that his friend *could* have survived the fall. What he didn't know was whether or not he   
actually *had*, and how far that the river would carry him from Rivendell. The flooded Bruinen   
would have flowed amazingly quickly, and gained even more speed with the addition of Mitheithel's   
waters, where the two rivers joined and became the Greyflood. If Glorfindel had been carried   
that far by the surge of water that he had caused before he was knocked unconscious, it was very   
possible that the mighty Greyflood would carry him still quite a ways further on its own, even   
after the floodwaters had receded.  
  
He sensed the night drawing to a close as the first dim grey light of dawn began to spread over   
the land. He began to worry. For orcs and all evil creatures hid themselves away from the Sun   
in the daytime, and once they stopped, surely it would be found out that he was no longer   
unconscious.  
  
But the Sun rose and the brutal pace set by the orc-kin never slackened, though they cursed the   
Sun in their dark, harsh language.  
  
The orc-kin carrying him cursed and he was tossed to another to carry. It took some effort, but   
he managed to keep up the illusion of unconsciousness; staying limp and choking back his cry of   
surprise as he was tossed from one Uruk-hai to another.  
  
The Sun continued its slow journey across the sky, shining down on them from the clear blue sky   
above for hour after hour.  
  
Still, the Uruk-hai ran on.  
  
Elrond was worried, and not only for Glorfindel and himself. These creatures that had captured   
him, whatever they were, were strong enough to walk- even run- in the full light of day. That   
made them worse than normal orcs and goblins or even trolls. And they were so fast afoot and   
strong. This did not bode well for the free peoples of Middle-Earth. Always before they had   
been able to rely on the light of the Sun to hold the evil creatures somewhat in check. If that   
small security was now taken away....  
  
Around noon, he was thrown to the ground as the Uruk-hai stopped for a short time to eat and rest.   
The orc-kin that had been carrying him growled fiercely upon seeing him awake. It called out   
something in its harsh language and another of the creatures came. This one, Elrond saw, was the   
biggest one in the group.  
  
The huge Uruk-hai looked him over from head to toe, growling menacingly the entire time. "So   
you're the Lord of Rivendell," it said at last, its voice harsh and gutteral.  
  
Elrond said nothing, concealed well his shock at the realization that his capture hadn't been the   
random thing he had thought it was.  
  
The orc-kin laughed nastily at his silence, amused at the small act of defiance. Then it   
approached him, a length of coarse rope in one clawed hand. Roughly, it wrapped the rope around   
the ties binding his wrists, tying it there with a length of rope trailing.  
  
"My boys've had enough of carrying you," came the growled words, accompanied now by an evil,   
fang-baring grin. "Now, you run with us."  
  
The Half-Elf carefully hid the dismay that flooded through him as he remembered how fast his   
captors ran. He knew that he could run at that pace, but he could only do it for short periods   
of time. He knew there was no way that he could match the orc-kin's pace for the hours upon hours   
they were apparently demanding of him.  
  
Then the bonds on his ankles were cut away and he was yanked to his feet by the lead-rope bound   
to his wrists.  
  
He managed to look around, saw by the placement of the mountains that they were already very far   
from Rivendell. Indeed, the next march would see them enter Hollin, and cross most of it as well   
if they kept to the pace they had been.  
  
And where were they taking him with such haste? Along their present course following along   
beside the mountains, there was Hollin, which was largely abandoned. There was Moria, once a   
mighty city of dwarves, then taken by evil creatures. He had heard that a dwarven expedition a   
dozen years back had gone to Moria to reclaim it. Had they succeeded? Had they been overcome?   
He did not know.  
  
After Moria was the Glanduin river, flowing down from the mountains, then the vast Dunland.   
After *that* was the Gap of Rohan. Did they mean to take him through there? Would they dare   
brave the Rohirrim?  
  
He sighed inwardly in frustration. Questions. All he had were questions without answers. It   
was not a situation he was used to, and one he was not fond of in the least.  
  
His arms were nearly jerked out of the sockets when the Uruk-hai holding his lead-rope began to   
run at a harsh order, the others running beside them.   
  
For the first half-hour he ran as strongly as they. By the end of the first hour, though, his   
breathing was harsh and sweat poured off him in waves. His legs felt like jelly, his step was no   
longer as sure as it had been.  
  
When he stumbled and fell near the beginning of the second hour, the orc-kin just laughed and   
kept running, jeering at him in evil amusement. He was dragged along the ground, body getting   
even more cut and bruised as they went until at last he managed to somehow get his feet under him   
once more and run again.  
  
His whole body trembled with exhaustion as he ran, each harsh gasp for air burning and tearing at   
his throat.  
  
And so he passed the day and night; running, falling, being dragged until he managed to regain   
his feet, then running again, an endlessly repeating cycle. Thirst and hunger grew in him as the   
day and night passed.  
  
At last, the order to stop was given. As the orc-kin ceased running, instead stopping for a meal,   
Elrond simply dropped to the ground where he stood, instantly lost in deep, exhausted sleep.  
  
Directly before them lay the river Glanduin, sparkling in dawn's first light.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Poor Elrond! *g* So, what did you think? And yes, I know that if you look at a map, the Uruk-hai   
are *really* moving impossibly fast. But hey, that's how they're built, no? *g* I figure it'll   
take them about a week's hard marches to get them to Isengard. That being said, please review!   
My plotbunnies want to hear from you! *g* 


	4. Interlude I: After the Attack...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far; it's nice to hear from you! *g* Don't hesitate to   
do so again! *g* And no, Redclia, I honestly have no idea who you are. Sorry. *shrugs*  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 4  
  
The Elves of Rivendell stared at each other in confusion, a bit stunned at the suddden withdrawal   
of the orc-kin. Then one of the burning fires snapped loudly, rousing them from their daze, and   
they quickly organised themselves to put out the fires.  
  
It was only after the fires were extinguished that they had a chance to look around them and take   
stock of all that had happened.  
  
The fires had caused superficial damage to several buildings, nothing that couldn't be fixed in a   
day or two. Some Elves had taken injuries during the fight, though none were severe. Grey smoke,   
slowly being dispelled by the wind over the river Bruinen, hung over the valley, dimming the   
fading light of the late afternoon.  
  
It was during the search for friends and family, checking to see how badly each had been injured,   
that a certain lack came to their attention.  
  
"Where is Father?" Elladan asked.  
  
It was a question that threw the assembled Elves into a frantic search of the whole of the valley   
of Rivendell. At long last, they found his weapons, thickly stained with drying black blood,   
lying on the ground among many dead orc-kin. Of Elrond himself, there was no sign.  
  
Then Elrohir came up, Glorfindel's sword and long knife, also bloodstained, in hand.  
  
Both Elf-lords had vanished.  
  
The assembled Elves came to the only conclusion they could, the only conclusion that made even   
the slightest bit of sense, however unusual: The orc-kin had kidnapped the lords Elrond and   
Glorfindel.  
  
By the time they came to that realization, the Sun was setting and they had no choice but to wait   
for morning to set out in pursuit. However much it stung at their hearts to leave the two   
captives of the orc-kin for even that long, even *they* could not follow a trail once full night   
fell.  
  
Come the first hint of dawn, though, they would away in pursuit, armored, weaponed, and riding   
swiftly upon their sleek Elf-horses.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Okay, this was a really short chapter, I know, but I had to show what was going on in Rivendell.   
*shrugs* Next chapter is about Glorfindel again! *g* Please review! The more reviews I get, the   
sooner I'll post the next part! *g* 


	5. Thawing Glorfindel...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 5  
  
Glorfindel drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness. His awareness was fragmented and   
confused.  
  
He had the vague sensation of being carried, his numb body too cold to shiver, too cold to move,   
nearly too cold to breathe. Then darkness claimed him once again.  
  
  
  
He awoke at the feeling of being immersed to the neck in what felt like molten metal, the heat   
scalding against his icy flesh. He fought as hard as he could to get free of the heat, his best   
efforts barely enough to make a small splash. He was dimly aware of some of the water being   
drained, moaned in new pain as even warmer water was added in its place.  
  
After three such increases in temperature, his body warmed enough to begin to once again shiver   
uncontrollably.  
  
Yet another increase in temperature saw him warmed enough to partially open his eyes.  
  
With blurred vision he got the impression of solid walls around him, lit by flickering orange and   
red light. He saw himself to be immersed to the neck in clear water, saw a shadow near to him.   
It was only when the shadow moved to add more water to his bath that he realized it was a person.  
  
Noticing his partially opened eyes, the other began to speak. "So you are awake at last, hmmm?"   
it said softly, gently, as it poured the water into his bath. "You are lucky that I was passing   
by when I was. If I had lingered another day on the Road as had been my intention, you would   
have frozen to death before I found you. As it was, it was a very close thing."  
  
Glorfindel tuned out the rest of what the other was saying, closing his eyes, drifting into   
darkness once more, the vague nagging thought that he should know that voice following him down   
into helpless slumber.  
  
  
  
He was awakened by someone shaking his bare shoulder.  
  
"Come, now," he heard the other say. "Let's get you out of the bath and dried."  
  
He was gently tugged to a sitting position, then pulled up to his feet. He leaned heavily on the   
other, too weak and worn to stand on his own. He barely had the energy to lift his feet enough   
to get out of the bath.  
  
Eyes still mostly closed, still in great part asleep, Glorfindel was aware of being quickly dried,   
then he was led over near the fireplace and lain down on warmed blankets on the warm stone floor.   
More blankets were piled on top of him.  
  
Then his head was raised slightly and a mug of something warm was brought to his mouth. He drank,   
recognised the taste as that of a warming tea, sweetened almost to the point of being sickening.   
He drank it down, however, knowing that he needed the warm sweetness to help fight off shock and   
the deep-chill that had nearly claimed his life.  
  
The other made him drink two mugs of the tea, then another of water. Feeling warm inside for the   
first time since his fall into the Bruinen, Glorfindel sank back to the blankets, sleep   
overtaking him once more.  
  
He was dimly aware of the blankets being tucked in about him, then he slept.  
  
  
  
He awoke several more times, each time being given a bowl of thin soup to eat, then more of the   
tea and water before he again surrendered to sleep.  
  
  
  
At last, he awoke and knew himself to be well again. The chill and cold that had been so   
constant since the Bruinen was gone. He breathed easily, breath no longer rattling sickly, chest   
no longer aching so foully with each breath. He could feel soft bandages wrapped around him here   
and there over his carefully tended and now-healing wounds.  
  
He opened his eyes as he sat up in his pile of blankets, the blankets sliding down to pool about   
his waist.  
  
He lay close to the fireplace, where a fire burned cheerfully, heating the room. In one corner   
of the room stood a copper tub. Vague memories of being bathed and warmed in that tub paraded in   
his head, a collection of vague, fragmented images. He remembered only snatches of that,   
remembered the scalding heat of the lukewarm water, the feel of the rough towel drying him after,   
how the person who tended him had put him to bed. How the other had fed him when he was too weak   
to do it for himself.  
  
"Awake, are we?" came the voice as a hanging curtain across the door was pushed aside by the   
other's entrance, falling quickly back into place. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Better," Glorfindel said simply. "Warm. Dry."  
  
The other smiled. "Good," he said. He gestured to a spot just beside the fireplace. "There are   
your clothes, dried and mended as much as I could. I couldn't get the bloodstains out, and I had   
to put patches in some places, but at least it's something to wear. The oil on your boots is   
still drying, they should be ready by tomorrow. You probably shouldn't be traveling before then   
anyway."  
  
Glorfindel found his clothes, pulled the fire-warmed items to him and dressed. His clothes were   
by no means as fine as they had been, but like the other said, at least they covered him and kept   
him warm. Trembling slightly with the exertion, he sat back down on the blankets. "Thank you,"   
he said. He looked to the other, who still stood mostly in shadow. He had a vague sense that he   
should recognise the other's form and the voice that was so familiar, but he just couldn't recall   
the memories. He knew the other, or had at one time- he was sure of it. If only he could   
remember! "May I know who it is that saved my life?" he asked.  
  
The other hesitated for a long moment before moving so that the light from the fireplace fully   
illuminated his face.  
  
Glorfindel's eyes widened as he saw the other, recognised him at last. "My Lord!" he exclaimed.   
"But... but.... You're dead!"  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Aren't I wicked? *g* Please review! *g* The more reviews I get, the faster I'll post the next   
part! It's already typed up and waiting.... So are the next three... *g* C'mon! Feed the   
plotbunnies some reviews! *g* 


	6. More Marching...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Okay, lots and lots and lots of thanks for the great reviews last chapter! *g*   
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 6  
  
It was barely an hour later when Elrond was kicked awake by his captors, their heavy iron-soled   
boots knocking him about even while bruising him badly, even through the battle-armor he wore.  
  
Muscles still trembling with exhaustion from the last horrible run, he managed to struggle into a   
sitting position on the ground. His battered body protested mightily even that small movement;   
the battle, the running and the being dragged left him hurting all over, nearly too much to move   
at all.  
  
He was sent sprawling on the ground at an ungentle shove, the orc-kin around him laughing at his   
small hiss of surprise and pain. Determined not to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing   
the depth of his pain and weakness, he again managed to sit up, his bruised, blood- and dirt-  
stained face kept carefully expressionless.  
  
Even his great will, however, could not keep him from falling back to the ground as he was   
grabbed ungently by the hair, yanked abruptly to his feet and shoved. He managed to shakily   
stagger perhaps three steps before his legs folded beneath him, sending him crashing to the dirt,   
acquiring yet more bruises and a coating of still more dust and dirt.  
  
Most of the Uruk-hai laughed as the Lord of Imladris collapsed to the ground once more, jeered at   
him in their harsh tongue as he yet again struggled to sit up.  
  
The largest of the Uruk-hai, however, was not amused. While it pleased him greatly to see so   
great an Elf-lord reduced to lying weakly in the dirt, it annoyed him even more.  
  
Growling in annoyance, the orc-kin stalked over to the Elf, grabbed him by the dark, silky hair,   
claws scratching the Elf's skin enough to start small trickles of blood. He jerked the head back,   
then raised a flask to the battered Elf's lips.  
  
Elrond, partially dazed with pain, was still aware enough to know that he didn't want to have   
anything to do with the contents of the big orc-kin's flask. He clenched his jaw, refused to   
open his mouth.  
  
Growling in faint amused annoyance at the other's defiance, the big Uruk-hai simply dug his claws   
roughly into the Elf's scalp. At the other's gasp of pain, he poured some of the flask's liquid   
contents into the briefly opened mouth.  
  
Elrond choked and coughed as the burning liquid filled his mouth, then burned its way down inside   
him. He fell to the ground as the orc-kin released him, curled up into a ball, clutching at his   
stomach, writhing as the burning pain spread through him. A soft moan escaped him as the pain   
spread, burning its way down his arms and legs, leaving in its wake a dark strength that at once   
strengthened and weakened him, burning through him like poison.  
  
This time when he was pulled ungently to his feet, he was able to stand on his own.  
  
Then his lead-rope was taken up and it was time for the day's journey to begin.  
  
  
  
It took the Uruk-hai and their Elven captive perhaps an hour to cross the Glanduin river. It   
*was* frozen over in many places, but never was there an ice-bridge that crossed directly to the   
other side. Instead, there was a deadly maze of ice and cold, open water between them and the   
other side. Three of the orc-kin were lost to thin ice before the crossing was done.  
  
Then they were running again.  
  
And again Elrond suffered the same as the previous march; running until he fell, being dragged   
until he could regain his feet and run once more.  
  
It had been long and long again since he had last been required to march any great distance. The   
last time before his capture had been during the great marches of the Last Alliance, and even   
then he'd rode his horse most of the time furing the long marches from one camp to the next. It   
had been only on the marches from camp to battlefield that he'd left his mount behind in favor of   
his own two feet.  
  
And *those* marches had been nothing like what he was having to endure now.  
  
And so it was that Elrond came to the fair green hills and glens of the vast Dunland for the   
first time in a very long time. But he had not much attention to spare his surroundings; the   
burning of the orc-potion in him and the need to keep putting one foot in front of the other   
without falling nearly overwhelming what awareness he had.  
  
  
  
Three more times he was dosed with the firey liquid from the large Uruk-hai's flask when his   
steps faltered from near-total exhaustion.  
  
But even with the potion he was unable to keep running as the day passed toward night, and with   
another growl of annoyance the big Uruk-hai ordered the Elf-lord be carried.  
  
So great was Elrond's exhaustion that he never even struggled as he was taken once more and   
carried over broad Uruk-hai shoulders for the rest of the march. He was so worn, in fact, that   
he gave in to unconsciousness not long after they began carrying him, and slept for a long while.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So, what did you think? *g* Let my plotbunnies know! Please? Oh, and anonymous reviewers: if you   
ask a question in your review and don't leave an email address, how am I supposed to answer your   
questions? *shrugs* Just a thought. Anyways, please review, my plotbunnies eat them up as fast as   
they can. And of course, the more reviews I get, the faster I post! *g* 


	7. Interlude II: Out from Rivendell...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For discaimer, see part 1.  
  
A/N: 1)Okay! *g* Well, so far there've been two people to try guess who the mystery Lord from   
ch.5 is. Anyone else care to try? You'll find out next chapter who, if anyone, is right! *g*  
  
2)Um. Yeah. Ch.5 got 12 reviews (Glorfindel chapter), Ch. 6 got 7. People aren't interrested in   
hearing about Elrond anymore? Just wondering what's going on... *shrugs*   
  
3)Thanks to everyone who reviewed!  
---  
D45: Well, I print out every chapter that I write, and it seems the average is about 1 page each   
(except for the Rivendell-interludes). The next Glorfindel chapter, though, is 2 pages. *g*  
---  
SilentStep: 'Excellent' is something I never get tired of hearing! I do appreciate each and every   
review that you've given me... they cheer me up! *g*  
---  
AJ Matthews: I'm glad that you like my stuff. I love yours, and if FF.net hadn't decided it   
doesn't like my browser (I have to go into a whole other program to login!), your fics would be   
crawling with reviews from me, like they had been before! *g*  
---  
PL: *g* But, like someone else had said in a review, he's been 'sitting there in Rivendell   
looking incredibly wise' apparently since the Last Alliance... And though wandering around in his   
house is a feat in itself, I doubt it measures up to running over 100 miles at a stretch with   
Uruk-hai. *g*  
  
4)For those who haven't figured it yet, this fic is written cyclically. Meaning the chapters go   
Gllorfindel-Elrond-Rivendell. This is the next Rivendell Interlude. Next will be Glorfindel. *g*  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 7  
  
The Sun had barely gilt the mountains of the horizon when twenty Elves of Rivendell, led by the   
twin sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, went forth from the vale in pursuit of the orc-kin.   
Each Elf was armored and weaponed for battle, and mounted upon a swift Elf-horse.  
  
The tracks of the orc-kin were not in the least difficult to follow and they made good time, the   
trampled earth passing swiftly beneath the pounding hooves of their horses.  
  
But no matter how hard they pushed their horses, the trail did not grow any fresher. In fact,   
when they were forced to stop for the night due to the deepening darkness, it was discovered that   
the trail they were following, that had been perhaps a half-day old when they left that dawning,   
was now nearly a full day older- they had, despite their best efforts, lost ground.  
  
"How is this possible?" Elrohir asked in frustration, throwing his hands wide. "They were   
perhaps a half-day's ride ahead of us when we left. Now they are nearly a day ahead!"  
  
"I know that," Elladan replied in equal frustration. "I do not know how it happened. This *is*   
the right trail. It is as if they were running all day as well as all night!"  
  
"Orcs do not run in the day," Elrohir argued. "We have been on orc-hunts enough to know *that*,   
brother."  
  
"Orcs do not *attack* in daylight, either, and yet these did," countered Elladan. "And now they   
are far ahead with Father and Glorfindel, and *we* have to stop for the night even as the trail   
grows colder."  
  
They were silent for a long moment, thinking of their father and friend in the foul clutches of   
orcs as their mother once had been. Worry still coursing through them, they rejoined the others   
in their camp a short way off from the orc-kin trail.  
  
Tomorrow would be another early day.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Next up... Glorfindel and the mysterious 'my Lord'! *g* Any guesses who it is? *g*  
  
Please review! My plotbunnies eat them right up, and have one humongeous appetite! *g* Also, the   
next parts are posted faster the more reviews I get! *g* 


	8. Revelations....

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Not much action; it's night and Glorfindel is not well enough to leave anyways- he just finished   
thawing out from being a Glorfindel-sicle! *g*   
  
This chapter is actually mostly about 'my Lord'. Lots of remembering the past going on as he   
tells it to Glorfindel in an effort to explain why he allowed everyone to think him dead. The   
rememberances don't advance the plot much, but it's an interesting explanation anyway, or at   
least my plotbunnies and I think so! *g* I oscillated between 'leave it in' and 'scrap it', and   
decided at last on 'leave it in', 'cause I like it. Hope you do, too. *g*  
  
Well, the votes about mysterious one's identity went like this: Saruman got 1 vote, Gil-galad got   
5. Well, five of you out there are... hey, wait. I can't tell you here, It would spoil the   
surprise! *g* Guess you'll have to read on to find out! *g*  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 8  
  
The other smiled briefly as he moved closer, went over to the fireplace to check on the contents   
of a pot that hung over the glowing embers to one side of the flames. The delicious smell of   
some sort of stew filled the room when he lifted the lid. He stirred the stew a few times, then   
covered it once more with the pot's lid.  
  
Then he turned to face Glorfindel, who was still staring at him in disbelief. "Dead?" he asked.   
"No. I am quite alive, as you can see."  
  
Glorfindel shook his head, trying to rid himself of the near-paralysis brought on by the sight of   
the other. "I saw you fall. *We* saw you fall," he said at last.  
  
The other sighed. "Yes, I fell," he said simply. "And I was wounded terribly, and very near to   
death. But I did not die, for I was taken from the battlefield and well-tended until I was whole   
again." He saw that the Elf-lord was having trouble believing his words, tried to think of a way   
to convince him that what he said was truth. "You never found my body amongst the dead there,   
did you?"  
  
"No, we didn't," came the reply. "But we saw you fall in single combat with-"  
  
"Do not say that name!" the other interjected, a hand instinctively raised in a gesture of   
warding, body shying away slightly from the name the golden-haired Elf had been about to speak as   
if the mere near-mention of it pained him.  
  
Glorfindel nodded his understanding, continued his interrupted phrase. "We saw you fall to...   
him. We saw it. We never found the body, though we searched the whole slope of Orodruin.(1) All   
we found of you was Aiglos, and you know you were never without it."  
  
"Ah, my spear!" The other smiled, remembering it fondly. "What became of it?"  
  
"Elrond took it," Glorfindel replied. "Upon his return to Imladris, he had a shrine built for   
it... for you, who had fallen."  
  
The other's smile took on a hint of sadness. "Ah, Elrond," he sighed. He looked to Glorfindel.   
"Tell me about him. Is he well? Is he happy?"  
  
Abruptly, the golden-haired Elf remembered his last sight of his friend. "Elrond is captive of   
the orc-kin that attacked Imladris!" he exclaimed. He tried to get up, but the other held him   
down. "Let me up!" he said, struggling against the other's hold. "I must go to him!"  
  
"Glorfindel," came the stern voice. "You cannot go out after them tonight. You are yet   
recovering and it is too dark out now."  
  
"But, my Lord Gil-galad-" Glorfindel started.  
  
"Enough, Glorfindel," the same strong voice said again. "If he was captured, as you say he was,   
by orc-kin, you will accomplish nothing but your own death by rushing out after them bootless,   
cloakless, unarmed and unprepared. Especially not at night, when all evil things are strongest.   
I did not save you from the river for you to go out and do something this foolish. I *will* help   
you rescue him. *But* we shall do it my way; planned and well-informed." He smiled grimly. "We   
*will* rescue Elrond from his captors, and we shall do it without getting ourselves killed in the   
process. Now, is there anything you can tell me of our foes? You call them orc-kin. What are   
they?"  
  
"I do not know," came the reply. "They are obviously part orc, but they have the size of Men,   
and are far stonger than normal orcs. They attacked Imladris in daylight, my Lord, in full   
sunlight. They wore tokens, badges, upon which were a white hand and the Elven 's'-rune."  
  
Gil-galad, once High King of the Elves, thought over this information, frowning. "And which way   
were they headed once they left Imladris? How many of them were there?" he asked. "Whose   
symbols are those?"  
  
"I do not know the symbols. There were perhaps two or three dozen of them. And as for direction,   
all I know is that they attacked from the South. I know not in which direction they went   
afterward, for it was during the beginning of their withdrawal that they threw me into the   
Bruinen."  
  
"The Bruinen?" Gil-galad asked, confused. "How is it that you come to be here, then? The   
Bruinen is a shallow river and would not have carried you so far."  
  
"Elrond commands the river," Glorfindel explained. "The orc-kin threw me down from a great   
height, and Elrond caused the river to flood to let me survive the fall. It carried me well into   
the waters of the Greyflood, the river Gwathlo, before the floodwaters receded, and even in   
winter the river is mighty enough that it carried me far of its own will."  
  
The former High King smiled softly. "It seems my Herald has done well for himself, to command   
both Elves and rivers."  
  
"Yes," Glorfindel said simply. "And he has his children-"  
  
"Children?" came the startled voice. "Elrond has wed?"  
  
"Yes, but she went into the West many years ago. She bore him three children: the twin boys   
Elladan and Elrohir, who were born merely a hundred and thirty years after the end of the Last   
Alliance, and his daughter Arwen, born a hundred and eleven years after the boys."  
  
They were silent for a long space, sitting on the floor before the fireplace, watching the flames   
dance merrily.  
  
A snap of the fire recalled Glorfindel to himself. He turned his face to the other. "My Lord?"   
he asked quietly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why did you never come to us? Why did we recieve no word of your survival? Where were you and   
what were you doing and why did you stay away for the last three *thousand* years?"  
  
Gil-galad rumbled a harsh sigh, was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, staring into the   
crackling, dancing flames as if only they could offer him the solace and comfort he needed. "I   
did not go to you because at first I *could* not. I was not killed in that battle with the Dark   
Lord. I was not killed, but I was very severely wounded, nearly unto death. I can remember that   
day; the shouted battle-cries af the Alliance armies led by Elendil and I, the clash of blade   
against blade, the hiss of flights of loosed arrows, the death-cries of friend and foe alike, the   
stench of blood that was everywhere.  
  
"Then the Dark Lord came forth from his stronghold for the first time in the seven-year siege.  
  
"I went to meet him and we fought for a very long time. I landed several blows on him with my   
spear Aiglos, but then something happened elsewhere- the sounds changed- and I was distracted.   
It was only briefly, perhaps bare seconds, but even that was too long against such a foe.  
  
"His weapon slammed into me, knocked me back. Then again, and I flew through the air to crash to   
the slope of Orodruin. Aiglos fell from my hand and rolled away down the slope. My body was   
broken by the blows and the hard stone. My armor was rent by the blows and what remained was   
dented and twisted and more pain than protection. My arms and legs were broken, as were my ribs.   
Gashes covered me, leaking bright blood. I could barely breathe, let alone move. Simply lifting   
my head brought on agony and nausea, and darkened my vision.  
  
"I was fortunate to be found so quickly. The Men who found me bound the worst of the cuts, then   
bore me away from the battlefield-"  
  
"Why did they not bring you to the Healers' tents to be tended?"  
  
Another sigh, softer this time. "It would have done no good. The wounds were too severe. I   
knew that our Healers could do nothing. The Men told me as I lay bleeding and shattered upon the   
ground that their Elders might be able to do something."  
  
"And so they did. But why did you not return to us once you had healed enough?"  
  
"Glorfindel, it was nearly two *hundred* years before the dread wounds made by the Dark Lord had   
healed enough to allow me to simply stand on my own. Twenty generations of Men passed before I   
was ready to face anything in battle once more without cringing away in fear of pain.  
  
"By then, Middle-Earth was changed. Cirdan had taken my place as High King of Lindon. There had   
been many kings of Men, and many of the kingdoms I had known I found abandoned. It was while   
wandering through the lands of Men that I first heard the songs and tales of the Last Alliance,   
and those of the fall of Gil-galad.(2)  
  
"It is very strange to hear yourself spoken of as a legend that ended centuries ago. It brought   
home to me the one simple fact that I could no longer ignore: All of Middle-Earth had moved on,   
and I was merely a tale from the past. My time as High King of the Elves had ended with the   
Second Age.  
  
"I came here to Dunland, to the descendants of those Men who had tended to me, and here I have   
stayed, save for a few occasional forays out for news, tales and companionship, for all of the   
Third Age. The name of Gil-galad, *my* name, I spoke to none."  
  
Glorfindel reached out and clasped the other's shoulder reassuringly. "High King or not, you are   
always welcome in Imladris," he said. "But now, about Elrond-"  
  
"Yes," the other said. He patted the hand on his shoulder, then leaned forward to tend the fire   
and check the stew. Finding it done, he ladled some onto bowls for Glorfindel and himself. "We   
shall go scouting in the morning. We shall walk toward the Hith Aiglin(3), then turn North   
toward Imladris should we find nothing. But tell me, Glorfindel: do you truly not know who would   
use either the white hand or white 's'-rune as their symbol?"  
  
"There is only the Dark Lord, but he does not use Elvish letters, or the color white," Glorfindel   
said absentmindedly. Then his eyes widened. "Curunir!" he exclaimed.(4)  
  
"Curunir?" echoed Gil-galad. "Who is... ah! Is he not one of the Istari that came from out of   
the West a thousand years into the Third Age?"  
  
"Yes," Glorfindel said. "It was spoken of at the Council of Elrond that Curunir has become   
seduced by the forces of Darkness and has turned to evil. But he uses Elf-runes and was known   
commonly as 'Saruman the White'. He lives in the South, in his tower of Orthanc in the foothills   
of the Hith Aiglin near the Gap of Rohan."  
  
They ate in silence, both thinking over that information, thinking also of the path they would   
walk the next day. They each had several bowls of stew, then lay down in their blankets by the   
fire to rest.  
  
Glorfindel looked across the width of the fireplace to where Gil-galad lay on his side, watching   
the flames once more. "Gil-galad?"  
  
"Yes, Glorfindel?"  
  
"I am glad that you are not dead."  
  
A tired chuckle. "So am I."  
  
A few minutes passed.  
  
"Glorfindel?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Did you mean what you said, about me being welcome even though I decided not to try to retake   
the High-Kingship?"  
  
"Of course. You are our friend, first and foremost. You are always welcome, crowned or not."  
  
"Thank you." Gil-galad settled himself more comfortably in his blankets. "We should rest now.   
We have a long way to go on the morrow."  
  
"Good night, Gil-galad," Glorfindel answered as he settled in to rest.  
  
"Good night, Glorfindel."  
  
TBC...  
  
  
1)Orodruin: Elvish name for Mt. Doom.  
2)'Fall of Gil-Galad' 3-verse excerpt can be found in LotR:FotR, book 1, chapter 11: 'A Knife in   
the Dark', or on the 'net here: http://tolkien.cro.net/talesong/gilgalad.html  
3)Hith Aiglin: Sindarin Elvish name for the Misty Mountains. Litterally: 'Peaks-of-Mist'.  
4)Curunir: Quenya Elvish name for the wizard Saruman.  
  
*g* Were you surprised? Did you like it? Leave a review and let my plotbunnies know! *g* 


	9. Running...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
I'm glad that everyone liked the re-appearance of Gil-galad! He's just such a great character!   
Thanks to everyone who reviewed!! (Hands out virtual Elf-lords)  
---  
Sun Queen: No, Elrond and Gil-galad were not involved. That sadness is just because Elrond had   
been Gil-galad's "best friend" and confidant, and Gil-galad missed the wedding. It wasn't   
because E. had married someone else, it was that he had missed being there to see it.  
---  
Kellie: "Chilling," hmm? I like that! *g* Thanks!  
---  
Cireoe Anumen: Thanks! *g* As for Glorfindel's reaction being childlike, I think it's   
understandable, considering that someone you looked up to for a long time had apparently faked   
their own death and not bothered to tell you... *shrugs* Yeah, the 'I'm glad you're not dead'   
part is one of my favorites, too! *g*  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 9  
  
When he came awake again, it was to find himself still being carried by the seemingly tireless   
Uruk-hai.  
  
Dawn's first light lay over the land, coloring all with a faint golden light.  
  
The long rest had done him good. He felt well-rested for the first time since he'd been captured.   
And if his cuts and bruises still made him sore, it wasn't as debilitating a feeling as it had   
been when he was exhausted.  
  
As he had that first night, he gave no indication of his conscious state. He extended his senses,   
smiled internally as he discovered his first hope of escape. The Uruk-hai had been running away   
from Rivendell as fast as they could for three days and nights now, and the light of the Sun wore   
on them as it hadn't before, slowing them slightly even as the grumbles grew worse. One other   
major difference that fed his hope was the fact that though his wrists were bound in front of him   
as tightly as ever, his legs and ankles weren't bound at all.  
  
If he was put on the ground, he would be able to run. In fact, considering his long rest and the   
Uruk-hai's tiredness, for a short while he would even be able to run faster than they could. In   
the long run, of course, they would catch him again, having a greater endurance than he, but if   
he managed to hide during that time when he had the advantage over them....  
  
The Elf-lord wracked his brain, trying to remember all he could of the maps of the area, trying   
to think of the best direction for him to run when the time came. Chances are the opportunity   
would not come again. He could *not* fail at what could be his only try for freedom!  
  
Running East into the mountains to hide was out of the question. Alone and unarmed, he would be   
easy prey for the orcs, goblins and wargs that infested the misty peaks.  
  
Should he run West, then, and hope to hide amongst the hills of the Dunland? Even in full   
battle-armor, he knew his tracks would be nearly invisible on the frosty ground. And if he ran   
West, once he lost the orc-kin, he could continue on West and come at last to the old Road and   
follow it northward to the Greyflood. Then where? Unarmed, how was he to defend himself or   
provide himself with food?  
  
He shoved those worries aside. None of that would matter if he could not get away from the   
orc-kin. Escape was his primary concern. He was confident that once *that* was accomplished,   
he would find a way to do the rest, to do what was needed to get himself back to Rivendell.  
  
  
  
It was around noon when the Uruk-hai, cursing loudly, threw down their prisoner and stopped to   
rest. The Sun was wearing on them more than it was before, tiring them, and there were no clouds   
in the sky to offer them relief from the bright light.  
  
Elrond kept himself limp as he was first carried, then thrown down to the hard ground. He smiled   
internally when the orc-kin fell for his illusion of unconsciousness. Still he lay limp and   
unmoving on the ground, waiting for the right moment.  
  
Then it arrived.  
  
The orc-kin, thinking him unconscious, had wandered away perhaps twenty feet to the East, leaving   
none between him and the vast area to the West.  
  
With barely a split second's thought, he was on his feet and running as fast as he could, heading   
first southwest to throw off pursuit.  
  
He heard the orc-kin shout at his flight, but he didn't look back as he heard those iron-shod   
feet running after him.  
  
He was almost caught nearly at once as a large Uruk-hai he hadn't seen came out from behind a   
hill he was running toward. He managed, with a quick twist and slight bend, to avoid the other's   
grab for him, though he felt its claws snag the trailing hem of his cloak and rip free a strip of   
material with a harsh jerk. The tug pulled abruptly at his throat and nearly succeeded in   
yanking him off his feet, but desperation allowed him to run on and make good his escape.  
  
He ran through the hills, seeking the right place to lose his pursuers. Soon, he was far enough   
ahead of them that they caught only the occasional glimpse of him; it wouldn't take much to throw   
them off his trail completely.  
  
He could feel himself tiring as first ten minutes passed, then thirty, then forty. An hour   
passed, swift as the ground beneath his running feet.  
  
Then he saw it- an old burrow in the side of a hill. A quick look behind showed him to be out of   
sight of his pursuers for the moment, and so he grabbed the opportunity.   
  
It was a tight fit, but he managed to cram himself into the den's entryway, pulling himself into   
the dark, frozen earth until he reached the larger den-area itself. There he sat on the cool   
sandy floor, taking the opportunity to work the ropes at his wrists free. The old scent of   
fur-musk was strong about him in the dark cave. He listened quietly as the group of Uruk-hai ran   
on by, apparently mistaking the fresh scratches in the entryway for the work of animals instead   
of a desperate Elf.  
  
Elrond smiled grimly in the darkness, wrapped his slightly worse-for-wear cloak about him and   
waited for perhaps ten more minutes before pulling himself back out the narrow tunnel, listening   
intently all the while for the orc-kin he knew were out there in the hills somewhere.  
  
Once out of the earth, Elrond looked around, getting his bearings. Then he started to move away   
north and west, first at a quick walk, then at an easy, ground-eating lope he knew he could   
easily keep up all day. As he went, he kept an ear out for the familiar sounds of the orc-kin.   
He did *not* want to be recaptured due to inattention, especially as the punishment they would   
deal out would probably be brutal.  
  
Mile after green, hilly mile passed smoothly beneath his running feet as the Sun slowly sank   
toward the horizon.  
  
  
  
By evening, he hadn't yet reached the Road, though he knew it couldn't be far off. He slowed to   
a quick walk, kept going even through the deepening darkness. Without any means of starting a   
fire, or anything to burn even if he had, he knew that keeping moving was the only way to keep   
warm during the cold January night. He stubbornly ignored the cold, refused to acknowledge it or   
feel it. He had *not* managed to free himself from the orc-kin only to give in to the cold now.   
Even his firm resolve, though, couldn't keep the occasional shivers from wracking his body.  
  
It was approaching midnight when he finally happened upon the Road. It gleamed faintly in the   
starlight, an alley running away vaguely north and west. Sure now of the path, he stepped onto   
the road and followed it northward, once again falling into the same mindless lope, his feet   
following the Road even as the meditative pace allowed him to rest his mind in the way of Elves,   
warming once more at the quickened pace. The shivers stopped.  
  
And so he slept restfully, even as he ran away the long hours of the night.  
  
It was perhaps an hour before dawn when he felt the cold feelings creep over him once more,   
waking him. He tried shrugging them off, kept running. The cold, shivery feeling only got worse   
the further he went. It was only when he noticed something ahead on the road that he realized   
that the cold feelings were coming from within, the Elven sense of danger, not a normal chill   
from outside him.  
  
By then, of course, it was too late to avoid being seen.  
  
One of the Nazgul, mounted once again, this time on a monstrous flying beast instead of the black   
horses from before, waited clamly in the middle of the Road, staring at him with its undead eyes.  
  
He froze where he stood. If he had been armed, he might have stood a chance of fighting off the   
Ringwraith; being a powerful Elf-lord, he had fought off such things before, as had Glorfindel.   
But he was not armed, and he was far from home. He knew that this foe was too much for him at   
that time.  
  
And so he had a choice: the certainty of defeat from the Nazgul ahead of him, or the possibility   
of running into his former captors as he ran away from the Nazgul into the forest that had begun   
to appear at the sides of the Road during the last hour's run.  
  
It was no choice at all. Elrond turned and dashed into the unfamiliar forest, the chilling wail   
of the Ringwraith rising behind him, piercing the chill morning air. He grit his teeth. If his   
captors had been uncertain of where to find him before, the Nazgul had just given them a pretty   
good idea of where to look.  
  
And so Elrond ran as hard and as fast as he dared, pacing himself carefully so as not to exhaust   
himself and yet cover as much ground as possible. His Elven senses were alert for any sign of   
his enemies, constantly scanning the forest and sky about him for any sign of their presence. It   
wouldn't do for him to run into them, not after having gotten this far!  
  
But by the Valar, he was getting tired of running all the time!  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So, what do you think? Poor Elrond! *g* Please review! Repeat reviewers are appreciated (it's   
nice to know that the people out there that reviewed one chapter didn't just lose interest after   
a while! *g*). Click the button! *g* 


	10. Interlude III: Riding...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Wow! I broke the 100-review barrier! Thanks, everybody! Plotbunnies = very happy! ;)  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 10  
  
The group from Rivendell had been riding for days now, and were yet no closer to catching up with   
the orc-kin than when they started. For though their elf-horses ran swiftly, the Uruk-hai   
created by Saruman ran just as quickly and were apparently near-tireless.  
  
They knew that they were on the right trail; since the second day of their ride, they had been   
able to see the faint imprint of a running Elf's footprints among the orc-kin tracks. The light   
footprints changed every so often to long drag-marks that made the riders wince in sympathetic   
pain even as the anger in them grew.  
  
Something else that both worried and puzzled them was the fact that there was only a single set   
of Elf-tracks. But Elrond and Glorfindel both had been taken. Was one injured so badly that   
even the vicious orc-kin wouldn't force him to run? And if so, which?  
  
Late that day, they found an answer to one of those questions.  
  
It was Elrohir that found them as he rode close beside the captive Elf's latest drag-marks. A   
dark stone stuck up from the ground, and from it fluttered three dark strands, ends caught in a   
small amount of dried blood on the stone. Dismounting, Elrohir grabbed hold of the strands,   
pulled them loose from the blood. Small though they were, he was able to recognise them; so   
similar were they to those of he and his brother.  
  
"Father's hair," he said aloud. He shoved the dark strands into a pouch at his waist. "Father   
is the one running."  
  
Filled with angry outrage that their beloved lord should be treated so ill, the party from   
Rivendell set forth once again, urging their horses on even faster than before, determined to   
catch up with those they pursued. When full night fell, it was unanimously decided to continue   
on by torchlight, stopping only to rest the horses before keeping on. They would *not* stop to   
camp for another full night.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Okay, short chapter, I know, but these interludes are always short. Next chapter might take a   
while (RL's acting up again!), but it will be longer than this, promise! ;) Please review! 


	11. Meetings...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
A few "thank you"s/notes:  
--  
Elwen, Kellie: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry it's taken so long, but I *can't* forget RL to write:   
writing *is* my RL, at the moment! *g*  
--  
Everybody else: Thanks for the great reviews!! ;O) It's good to see that even after 10 chapters,   
people are still reading!  
--  
  
Please review! ;)  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 11  
  
The two Elves had to delay their departure from the ruins of Tharbad by a day, for that morning,   
Glorfindel found himself unable to get up. Weak and shivering, he nonetheless tried stubbornly   
to rise and go to Elrond's rescue. Gil-galad had just picked up his swordbelt in preparation   
when a quick glance over his shoulder let him see Glorfindel fall helplessly back to his blankets,   
shivering convulsively. Laying his swordbelt back down in its place, he went over to the other   
Elf, who was once again trying to get up.  
  
"Rest, Glorfindel," he said, gently pushing the other back down to the blankets. "You are not   
yet well enough. We shall wait, for you to heal, and go out tomorrow."  
  
"But Elrond-" Glorfindel protested, shivering convulsively.  
  
"As much as I hate to say it, Elrond shall have to endure for one day more than expected."  
  
Neither Elf was happy about the delay, but there was no way around it with Glorfindel unable to   
rise.  
  
  
  
As if to make up for the lost time, they set out the next morning at the first vague hint of   
false dawn.  
  
Glorfindel's golden hair was bound in a tail at his nape by a soft leather thong. He wore a   
thick winter cloak from Gil-galad's stores and was armed with weapons given to him by the other   
Elf: a pair of long knives at his belt, a bow and quiver full of arrows on his back.  
  
Gil-galad was similarly attired, hair bound back, armed with knives, sword and bow.  
  
Both Elves wore packs with food and blankets, carried with them flasks of water. They were   
prepared for a long journey, even as they hoped it would be a short, yet successful, one. Both   
seethed with anger at the thought of their friend being held captive by the brutal orc-kin.  
  
Cloaks wrapped tightly about them against the cold January morning air, they quickly crossed the   
Greyflood river at the ford close by Tharbad's ruins, then they were off, hurrying straight East   
toward the Hith Aiglin.  
  
Their pace was quick, though not as quick as it could have been, for Glorfindel was more easily   
tired than he would have been had he not nearly frozen to death in the river a mere two nights   
before. It was due to the powers of Elven healing that he was even up at all; a human, similarly   
frozen and thawed, would have been confined to bed for at least a week or two.  
  
Still, even with the slower pace, they made good time. So it was that by the time they stopped   
for a rest and a meal at noontime, they had traveled nearly a quarter of the way to the mountains.  
  
Glorfindel looked around at the frozen green hills ahead of them when they stopped. Not yet   
fully in the Dunland, there were yet patches of forest about them, as well as marshland. The   
road was, if he remembered correctly, not far to their south, though it quickly dropped away,   
running more north-south than west-east. It had been some time since he had last passed through   
the Dunland and most of those times of late he had kept to the road, not open country.  
  
With a sigh, he went over to where Gil-galad crouched down on the sheltered side of one of the   
small, brush-covered hills, nibbling at some of his dried food, sipping from his water-flask.  
  
"You should eat, Glorfindel," he said quietly. "You need your strength. I know you don't wish   
to take the time away from our search, but it will only take longer should you weaken and suffer   
another relapse."  
  
"I know," came the reply. He crouched beside the former High King, took a stick of dried meat   
from his food-pouch and began to eat.  
  
They ate in silence for a time, though their thoughts were never empty; focused on their search   
and their friend.  
  
They had not been resting five minutes when a chill crept over both. Quickly, not bothering to   
waste time in useless queries, they gathered up their things and hurried into the concealment   
offered by the trees.  
  
Securing their packs and belongings, they stood still, listening intently to the forest-sounds   
about them, searching with sharp-eyed glances for the source of the chilling, dread feelings.   
Bows were strung, arrows set to the string.  
  
A wail split the air, and immediately a dead, fearful silence fell over the forest.  
  
The two Elves shared a grim glance, recognition showing in their eyes. No one could possibly   
forget the sound of an angry Nazgul once they had heard it even only a single time. Their eyes   
scanned the forest in the direction of the wail, searching. Nothing.  
  
Then they heard it. It sounded like a herd of stampeding animals. Then they heard a hoarse,   
gutteral cry of triumph, quickly echoed by many throats, and knew. The orc-kin they had been   
searching for were coming in their direction.  
  
Quickly, they took up defensive positions, arrows aimed at the quickly approaching noise. Sharp   
Elven eyes scanned relentlessly, looking for the first sign of the orc-kin.  
  
Perhaps five tension-filled minutes passed before a quickly moving form pushed its way through a   
clump of trees, stumbled toward where they waited, apparently failing to notice them.  
  
Glorfindel sighted along his arrow, ready to loose the shaft at any time. He was ready to shoot   
the approaching form when he saw- beneath a coat of dirt- the glint of Elven battle-armor.  
  
"Elrond!" he cried aloud. He was a bit startled at the other's dirt-smudged, bloody and   
dishevelled appearance, but quickly put the thought out of his mind as the Lord of Imladris   
stumbled toward him at the cry, clearly worn and nearly at the end of his endurance.  
  
"Here they come!" Gil-galad said as the trees parted again, this time spewing forth the orc-kin   
that pursued their escaped captive.  
  
Two bows sang in quick chorus as the archers turned their arrows loose on the Uruk-hai. Elven   
shafts flew with precision, burrying themselves in eyes, throat and heart. Orc-kin fell dead   
upon the ground two by two, and yet those behind kept coming, now hurling weapons at the archers.  
  
Gil-galad's last arrow went astray as he cried out in pain at a hurled knife burrying itself into   
his shield arm. He pulled the weapon free even as he dropped his bow. Tossing aside the knife,   
he drew his sword and defended himself from the oncoming Uruk-hai, even as blood from the wound   
soaked into his sleeve, the fabric sticking to the wound, temporarily slowing the bleeding.  
  
Glorfindel continued to shoot. He felt a slight tug at his waist and spared a quick look over to   
see Elrond standing there, dirt- and blood-smeared face set as he faced the oncoming Uruk-hai,   
armed with one of Glorfindel's long knives.  
  
Luckily, most of the orc-kin had been killed by arrows and so there were only a few left to come   
within reach of the keen blades of Elrond and Gil-galad. Those few were quickly killed by those   
same blades.  
  
Then silence fell over the forest again, the echoes of the battle fading quickly.  
  
A shadow cast from above passed swiftly over where the three Elves stood among the carnage. An   
angry wail accompanied the shadow, and the sound of heavy wingbeats retreated, not to return. It   
took several minutesm though, for the dread feeling of the Nazgul's presence to fade from them.  
  
Once all threat was gone, the normal forest sounds returned; birds and squirrels chirping   
tentatively, then with more vigor.  
  
Elrond, pale-faced beneath the dirt, turned to Glorfindel. His hands trembled as he brushed a   
wayward lock of dirty hair back behind one ear. "Glorfindel?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Please tell me that you thought to bring food," came the weak voice. "I have not eaten since   
Rivendell, save for the foul orc-draught, and if I do not eat soon, I may do something foolish.   
Like faint."  
  
Glorfindel wordlessly handed over his food-pouch and water-flask, watched as Elrond sat upon the   
torn ground and began to eat hungrily. He shook his head in bemusement; it had been long and   
long again since he had last seen Imladris' lord in such a state.  
  
Turning, he saw Gil-galad sitting on the ground, leaning back against a tree as he tried,   
one-handed, to bandage his arm wound.  
  
He walked from Elrond to Gil-galad, took the bandage from him. "That has to be cleaned first,"   
he rebuked gently. "*Then* bound. You know that. You don't want infection to set in, do you?   
You are, at the moment, the healthiest of the three of us."  
  
The former High King sighed. "Yes, I know it should be cleaned, but surely any poisons would   
have bled out by now-" He stopped at the other's glare. "All right. Clean and bind it for me   
then, for I cannot do it one-handed."  
  
Soon, the wound had been tended to and the two walked over to where Elrond sat, still eating,   
though at a slower pace now.   
  
He looked up as they came to a stop beside him. His eyes widened, the half-eaten chunk of dried   
apple falling to the ground from his suddenly slack hand. "My King!" he exclaimed.  
  
Then the two watched as the shock and events of the last few days at last overwhelmed the fading   
remnants of adrenaline running through him.  
  
Elrond Half-Elven, Lord and founder of the Elven sactuary of Imladris, wielder of Vilya of the   
Three, fainted. He collapsed gracelessly back and lay still upon the cold, battle-torn ground of   
the forest floor.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Okay, so what did you think? I never really wrote a fight-scene before; how was it? This fic is   
winding down; there are perhaps a couple of short chapters left in it. :O) Click the button down   
there and let me know what you though about his chapter, ok? My plotbunnies would love to hear   
from you! ;O) 


	12. Afterward...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
A/N: 1)Thanks for all the great reviews last chapter! ;) Something I'm curious about though: a   
bunch of people seemed to get the though that Gil-galad was severely wounded and might die?? It   
was just a knife in the arm. Don't worry, I have no intention of killing him off. ;)  
  
2)Also, if you like Elrond & Glorfindel fic, you might check out my other fic here on FF.net:   
"Saruman's Revenge." It's a humor-fic, so don't let the title fool you. It's great fun! :)  
  
Please review! ;)  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 12  
  
Glorfindel and Gil-galad stared down at the unconscious Half-Elf in bemusement for a short while,   
then Glorfindel reached down and picked him up, carried him over to the unspoilt ground at the   
clearing's edge. Gil-galad wordlessly lay out a bedroll for him and together they bundled the   
dark-haired Half-Elf in securely.  
  
"Stay with him," Glorfindel suggested, mindful of the fact that the former High King had been   
injured. "I shall go and see to retrieving our arrows."  
  
Gil-galad nodded. "I am not so hurt that I could not retrieve arrows, my friend," he said,   
smiling slightly at the other's faint blush. "But I shall do as you ask and keep watch over him."   
Then he settled down at Elrond's side, looking down at the unconscious one in concern. Taking up   
a clean cloth, he dampened it with water from his flask, then began to clean away the blood and   
dirt from the battered Half-Elf's face.  
  
Glorfindel, still somewhat embarrassed that his concerns had been so obvious, went about the   
clearing pulling arrows from the flesh of the large orc-kin. Some of the arrows had shattered,   
most had broken somewhat, but some were in good repair and others could be mended. He had just   
found Gil-galad's last arrow, sunk into a tree at an impossible angle that brought a chuckle to   
his lips, when he heard the sound of hooves.  
  
Quickly, he gathered up the arrows he had collected, then hurried back to the other two.  
  
"Horses!" he hissed.  
  
Needing to hear no more than that, Gil-galad stood hurriedly and together the two Elves lifted   
Elrond and scurried back from the clearing and into concealment, taking all their gear with them.  
  
Silently, they watched, eyes scanning the forest around them, as the sounds of the horses drew   
nearer and nearer. Glorfindel had his bow bent, an arrow set to the string. Gil-galad gripped   
his sword tightly, unable to pull a bow because of his arm wound.  
  
Then the riders entered the clearing, crashing through the same clump of trees that Elrond and   
the orc-kin had passed through.  
  
Recognition came quickly and Glorfindel lowered his bow. "Riders from Imladris," he told his   
companion. "Elrond's sons are with them."  
  
Gil-galad sheathed his sword with a slight nod, went back to Elrond's side. "Go to them, then,   
Glorfindel. Tell them Elrond is here, and safe."  
  
Glorfindel stood, walked back to the clearing. "Elladan! Elrohir!"  
  
"Glorfindel!" Elladan responded. He smiled widely in greeting. "You have been hunting orc-kin,   
we can see! You are well, then? Is Father with you?"  
  
"I am mostly well. Elrond is here. He will be well once he is taken back to Imladris, cleaned,   
rested and fed."  
  
"So you have come to no lasting harm at the hands of these... things?" Elrohir asked.  
  
Glorfindel's face showed his confusion. "I? Elrond was their captive, not I."  
  
Now it was the twins' turn to be confused. "What? But both you and Father were missing after   
the attack. If you were not taken, where were you? You know better than to chase after such a   
group of foes alone and unprepared. What happened then, if you were not captured?"  
  
"During the attack, the orc-kin threw me off of the bridge and into the Bruinen. For a long time   
I went downriver," he said simply. "Then I was fished out and was recovering. Then, today, I   
went orc-kin hunting."  
  
The twins were silent for a moment as they thought that over. It had never occurred to them that   
he might have met some other fate than to be captured. They looked to him once more. "And   
Father? Where is he now?" Elrohir asked. "Why is he not here to greet us?"  
  
"The ill treatment and lack of food finally caught up with him. He rests now."  
  
"We should bring him back home to Imladris, then, so he can rest and recover in more peaceful and   
comfortable surroundings," Elladan said. His twin nodded, added, "We have extra horses for the   
two of you. I suppose we could tie Father to the saddle-"  
  
"That will not be necessary," Glorfindel said. "He shall ride ahead of me. And there are three   
in our group."  
  
"Three? Who is-"  
  
"An old friend."  
  
Eager to both reassure themselves of their father's health and begin the four-day hard ride back   
to Imladris, the twins followed Glorfindel back into the woods and over to where the other two   
waited. Children of the Third Age, the twins did not recognise Gil-galad.  
  
"Father!" Elladan said, kneeling beside his father's unconscious form. He quickly looked to the   
strange Elf. "How is he? Can he ride?" At the other's nod, he untangled his father from the   
blankets, picked him up. "Get the blankets, brother." He looked once more to the strange Elf.   
"Do you wish to come with us to Imladris?"  
  
Gil-galad hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Yes," he said firmly. "At least for a little while,   
while Elrond recovers."  
  
Soon, the group was mounted and ready to ride. They left the clearing behind as they headed   
northeast along the Greyflood river toward Rivendell.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Okay, next chapter is the last chapter, I think. Don't worry, I'll have poor Elrond awake again   
before the end! ;) What did you think of this one? You know the drill: click the button down there   
and let the plotbunnies know! ;) 


	13. Home Again...

The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Sorry this chapter's taken so long- my plotbunnies got distracted by RL & other fic. *shrug*  
  
This is the last chapter of this fic. I wanted to say a big, humongeous *thanks!* to everyone   
who's reviewed it, as they really meant a *lot* to my plotbunnies and I! Especially I wanted to   
say thanks to those who reviewed nearly every chapter; it's nice to know that people didn't just   
lose interest after a while and go away! ;o)  
  
Please review! ;)  
  
  
*****  
The Treachery of Saruman  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 13  
  
Elrond awoke only briefly during the four-day ride back to Imladris, nothing that could be called   
true consciousness. He woke only long enough to eat a few bites and drink a little before   
sleeping once again. His memory of the long ride was confused, disjointed; he remembered the   
feel of a horse between his legs, a strong arm wrapped around his middle, the smell of horse   
sweat and leather oil. He *thought* he saw his sons there, as well as Glorfindel, but he couldn't   
trust his memory, for he was also getting flashbacks from the last such ride he'd taken during   
the Last Alliance; why else would he be seeing Gil-galad there, tending to him, poking at the   
fire, eating beside Glorfindel? But if it *was* some sort of flashback, why did he see his sons   
there as well? They were born after the end of the Alliance....   
  
It was a small confusion that his tired mind could not unravel.  
  
He slept again.  
  
****  
  
He awoke at last and knew himself to be nearly better. He blinked, for a short time disoriented   
by the lack of movement and horse-sounds and -smells, then calming as he realized that he was   
lying down not out in the wild but in his own bed in Imladris.  
  
He stretched and yawned, blinking sleepily up at the ceiling, only then registering the fact that   
he was not alone. He looked over, saw Glorfindel sitting there by the side of the bed, watching   
over him.  
  
"How are you feeling, my Lord?" the golden-haired Elf asked softly.  
  
Elrond smiled softly. "Sore all over and a little tired, but nothing worse than that. I see you   
survived your fall into the Bruinen."  
  
"I had help," came the smiling reply. "Thank you for flooding the river."  
  
Elrond shrugged. "There was nothing else I could have done. It didn't carry you too far, I   
hope? You had no difficulty in walking back here?"  
  
Glorfindel shook his head. "I arrived back in Imladris the same time you did, my Lord," he said.   
"The river carried me as far as the ruins at Thorbad. I would have died had I not been pulled   
from it and warmed."  
  
Elrond stared. "You are well now, though?" he asked in concern. "Who rescued you? Is he here   
for me to thank?"  
  
"He was with us during the whole ride back," came the reply. "Elladan and Elrohir only managed   
to pry him from your side a few hours ago to show him around the valley."  
  
Elrond frowned slightly. "My memory of the ride back is somewhat scrambled, my friend," he   
admitted. "I kept seeing times from the Last Alliance, when we used to camp with Gil-galad.   
Though why I also saw Elladan and Elrohir there-"  
  
The door to Elrond's bedroom chose that moment to open, admitting a trio of people.  
  
The Lord of Imladris looked over at the opening door, saw his sons enter the room, accompanied   
by-  
  
He blinked, but the vision remained the same. "My King?" he squeaked, face flushing red when he   
heard the sound of his voice.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir looked to each other, then to their new friend. "King?" Elrohir asked.  
  
Gil-galad moved to the bedside, looked fondly down at the Half-Elf. "Yes," he said simply. "It   
is I." Seeing the questions in Elrond's eyes, he shook his head. "No, as I told Glorfindel, I   
didn't die. I'll tell you the whole story later, but for now suffice to say that it was a few   
centuries before I was well again, and by then...." He shrugged. "My time had passed. I am no   
longer the High King, Elrond. Now I am merely Gil-galad."  
  
The eyes of the twins almost bulged from their sockets upon hearing the name. They blushed then,   
remembering how they'd been showing the other around, pointing out good spots for fishing,   
sunbathing, berry picking... surely someone so mighty didn't do those things anymore and would   
think them foolish?  
  
Elrond caught sight of his sons and chuckled. "I think you've mortified my sons," he said to   
Gil-galad. "What did they do to make them blush so?"  
  
The other looked to the beet-red twins. A smile twitched upon his lips. "Nothing that I can   
think of," he answered. "But perhaps they don't see it that way. Perhaps they are confused by   
my former title." He chuckled softly. "As were a great many others who live here upon seeing me   
ride in with your party. I fear my presence has made quite the disturbance throughout the   
valley. It was all Glorfindel and I could do to convince them that I was not in need of grand   
chambers, myriad servants and feastings. I've lived a simple life this Age."  
  
Elrond chuckled again, looked back to his old friend. "You will stay here in Imladris, won't   
you? At least for a little while?"  
  
"Yes, I will stay for a time. It is peaceful here, or will be once the excitement has died down.   
It has been long and long again since last I was among our people."  
  
Elrond nodded. "You are welcome in my home," he said simply. Then he settled back into the   
pillows as he was overcome by a yawn. "Tomorrow, I shall be entirely well," he said. "Then we   
shall walk together in the valley and talk."  
  
The former High King nodded. "I shall look forward to it," he said. "But now, you need to rest."  
  
Gil-galad, Glorfindel and the twins quietly left the room, shutting the door softly behind them,   
and left Elrond alone to rest.  
  
Imladris' Lord settled in to sleep. He was barely a step away from slumber when a thought made   
itself known to him: Everyone was safe and well again in Imladris, and yet still no one knew who   
had sent the strange orc-kin in the first place. Who among their enemies bore the badge of white   
hand and Elven 's'-rune?  
  
With firm, if sleepy, resolve, Elrond decided to send out Elves throughout Middle-Earth seeking   
the truth of the matter.  
  
In the morning.  
  
Then he slept.  
  
END  
  
  
Okay, so it's all done! Whoo! Hope everybody out there liked it. You know the drill: click the   
button down there and leave a review! Please? For the 'bunnies and me? ;o) 


End file.
